


The only thing that you keep changing is your name (my love keeps growing still the same)

by Lizicia



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Romance, Time Travel, timey-wimey wibbley-wobbley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizicia/pseuds/Lizicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison Wells has been thrust around in time so much he doesn't keep count of it anymore. He's been fluttering through timelines everywhere and anywhere and while everything else changes, he always meets a version of one woman, always falls in love with her and always, inevitably, kills her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The only thing that you keep changing is your name (my love keeps growing still the same)

**Author's Note:**

> I am not quite sure where this came from, other than I was listening to Arcade Fire's "Crown of Love" and the snippets just started pouring in. So here you are.  
> Title from Arcade Fire, "Crown of Love".

**_2000_ **

 

“What should we have for dinner tonight?”

“Seriously? You're asking _me_? You're the one who likes all this cooking stuff.”

He chuckles at her slightly mocking tone and concedes. “Very well, I will make something. But what would you like?”

“Harrison, I've been driving this car for the past seven hours and when I finally get back home, I could eat anything. Just anything.”

“Mmhmm, you say that now but I know that if it's not lasagne, you will not be pleased.”

She is silent for a moment and he can almost picture her pursing her lips in an attempt to not let it show how on point that remark is. Finally, she sighs into the phone and concedes. “You do know me, Harry.”

He smiles, even if she can't see him. “Eight years of marriage will do that to you.”

“Should I be worried that you forgot we got married only last week?”

“And should _I_ be worried that you don't count the rest of our time as part of it? It was a formality after all.”

She laughs into the phone and the sound soothes him, like it always does because he's learned to love her over time, has learned to associate that very sound with peace.

“It will take me at least an hour more before I get back.”

“Alright. Get home safe, Tess.”

“I always do, don't I? I love you.”

He starts the preparations for dinner, letting his mind relax for once, wondering if she would want some wine when she gets back.

He decides to prepare a bath for her, knowing that it will take time for the lasagne to cook and then rest. He starts filling the tub, and sits on the edge, testing the water with his hand when a nagging sensation falls over him, like a tug somewhere on the edges of his mind, reminding him that this life might not last. But it's stayed for ten years, he's stayed in this life for ten years and there is no reason why any of that should change.

He twirls his wedding ring around his finger, thinking about the road and the weather conditions and Tess driving back home from the conference, and the uncomfortable feeling keeps rising, not releasing.

He stands up suddenly, intent on calling Tess back and keeping her on the phone until her car is in the driveway and she in his arms when something flashes over him and he almost instinctively _knows_. The hollow ache in the pit of his stomach deepens and without any rational explanation for it, he knows that he has lost her.

When the police comes two hours later, the red and blue lights flashing outside of their house, he doesn't want to believe in this reality but it has happened.

This wasn't where he was supposed to end up.

She has died again and it's all his fault, time and time over again.

He feels like breaking apart and when the splintering washes over him, he accepts it eagerly, going to meet his destiny, trying to find it once more.

* * *

 

Harrison Wells has been thrust around in time so much he doesn't keep count of it anymore. He's been fluttering through timelines everywhere and anywhere, without any regard to his own wishes or choices. Sometimes he stays in one time for a day, sometimes for ten years, it is always changing.

He doesn't remember when or how it started but it has always _been_. He is certain that there is a timeline out there where he is supposed to be but he can't seem to get a lock on it.

And while everything around him changes, there is one constant: he meets a version of one woman in every timeline, with hazel eyes and a sweet smile. He always meets her, always falls in love with her and always, inevitably, kills her. Not directly and not by his own doing but he is always the indirect cause of her death; he can't help but think that it's his love that kills her, that it's his gift which demands a compensation in that very manner.

He sometimes wonders if she's the same as he is but she never remembers him, never knows that they have met in other lives, always has a different name but the same face.

Harrison has no idea what she means for him but he knows one thing.

He has to stop falling in love with her, to stop _killing_ her.

If only he could stay away but that seems to be the one thing he never masters.

* * *

 

_**1957** _

 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I stayed with you, here?”

He looks down at Sally, her head on his chest, her bare shoulders peeking out from under the covers and finds an expression of wonder and contemplation on her face.

“Well, you can stay but you have to get the kids from school in about 45 minutes.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “No, not now. Here, with you, forever.”

He tenses a bit and catches her eye. “You know we can't do that.”

She rises up on the bed and keeps the sheet wrapped around her before she counters that with what he's heard before. “But why not? You know I don't love my husband, at least not like I love you. Why do we have to keep torturing ourselves like this? I could leave him. I would, you know I would.”

He leans against the headboard of the bed, picks up his glasses from the bedside table and puts them on before looking at Sally again. She is beautiful in this early afternoon light – she is beautiful in every light – and she smiles at him hesitantly but the conviction in her eyes lets him know that this isn't an impulse this time but something more, something considered. He's tried keeping her at arms length in this timeline and had almost succeeded when he discovered she was already married and had children but somehow, he still became her lover. Harrison's spent almost a year trying to pretend that this doesn't mean much but he knows that he has succumbed again.

“What about your children? You know you can't take them with you.”

She bites her lip for a moment, considering the argument. It is the one thing that's always kept this apart, that's always managed to stop her love from flowing over, stopped her bursts of impulsiveness from ruining her life. He thinks that maybe if he can't be with her, not really, not truly, he can put this off, can stop this timeline from ending. He will take whatever he can, if that means she will stay in his life.

“I can still get to see them, I'm sure Ronnie would let me do that. And even if not, then we'll figure something out. I just can't stay at that house anymore, with him.”

She scoots closer on the bed and takes his face in her hands, imploring him by look alone. “Please, Harry. Take me away.”

And he shouldn't, he can't, he mustn't, he will only bring harm upon her, only-

“Okay.”

The smile that breaks over her face could contain the sun itself and she kisses him again, with unreserved passion and joy, pouring every ounce of her love into it.

“But.” He breaks off the kiss and pushes her hair back with his hand, to stop her from arguing when she hears the words. “We must be smart about this. Let me figure out when it's best that you leave. As for now, you really have to get your children from school.”

Sally nods eagerly and hugs him in a completely innocent manner and he curses his own weakness, hopes that this doesn't mean the end because he doesn't want this to end.

She leaves him in the hotel room with a smile on her face, coming back to kiss him once, twice, thrice more, rubbing her pink lipstick from his lips with a teasing hint in her eyes, before exiting and it feels heavy and freeing at the same time. But there is so much hope in her eyes, so much excitement and he can never deny her anything, no matter the timeline, and not even with the threat of fate looming over his head.

He waits for her call the next day but it never comes. He lets the day pass but when another afternoon almost reaches its end, he picks the phone up himself and dials the number, hoping she will pick up, and trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head which is telling him only the worst things.

“Hello?”

It is a woman's voice but he doesn't recognize it. “Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Raymond, please?”

“Oh.” The answering voice becomes soft and resigned and the dread that has been sneaking up on him since she missed the first phone call, creeps up towards his heart. “Oh, dear, I suppose you do not know.”

“Know what?” He manages to keep his voice steady but the images that flash in front of his eyes are gloomy.

“There was an accident, the taxi came out of nowhere, or maybe she wasn't looking and...I'm sorry, dear, what did you say your name was again?”

He hangs up then and his hand shakes only minutely.

It's happened again.

He should've known but he was reckless, so reckless with her life, and he hoped against all of his experiences that this wouldn't happen again, that maybe this was where he was supposed to be.

He doesn't almost notice the splintering before it crashes over him and then-

* * *

 

_**1929** _

 

“Oh, sugar, were you waiting for me?”

Annaliese smiles seductively like she always does and walks towards him, the beads on her dress catching and reflecting light, the sway of her hips captivating everyone's eyes. But they take one look at him and don't even think to approach: everyone knows that Harrison Wells' girl is out of bounds.

She hugs him close, kissing him on the cheek and the delicate jasmine scent she wears lets him know that she's prepared for him and never for anyone else.

“It was a swell evening tonight, Annaliese. Have a good one.” The club owner comes over to them, eagerly smiling and trying to impress Harrison. “Good seeing you, boss. How did you like the show?”

He has no patience for this greedy man who has never really appreciated Annaliese's talents, just her beauty. “She was the best thing about it.”

She smiles and curls closer to him, humming under her breath. “Oh, Harry, you flatter me.” Up close, her eyelashes are long and black and her mouth painted a sinful red and he wants nothing more than to discover just how much of a sinner he can make her, and god, how that makes him a terrible person.

“Let's go, doll.”

She links her hand around his elbow and waves casually to the band and the club, smiling her most charming smile which she relinquishes a bit once they have left. “Tonight was so long, darling. How about some champagne?”

He knows that she expects him to take her to Rouge but he has no patience for it now, looking down into the play of shadows on her face, the gentle swish of her hips; all he wants is to take her back to his apartment, though every instinct is telling him not to.

“I think we should stay in for tonight, Annaliese.”

She looks up at him in surprise and intrigue and now a genuine smile falls over her face. There is something more vulnerable, more honest and real about her when she's not being the slinky seductress Annaliese Holland but gives him glimpses into who she really could be, who she has been in every lifetime, and that is what he can't ignore.

“I would love that, Harry.”

So he takes her to the apartment and when she tries to advance on him, a coy smile on her face, he surprises her by meeting her halfway and kissing her himself. He wants all of her, has always wanted her in every lifetime and when she is like this, daring him to make a move, offering herself fully, he can hardly say no, can't even begin to remember why he really shouldn't. She hums in delight at his approach and responds with equal passion, pushing him down to sit on the sofa and straddling him in the blink of an eye.

She kisses him now of her own initiative, pushing and demanding, not one bit a delicate girl but a grown woman who knows what she wants.

He moves his hands over her sides, brushing against the softness of her breasts and she makes a soft mewling noise before pulling back to look at him, her gaze wide, her cheeks pinkish. She bites her lip and moves away from him and he's puzzled for a moment, until she smirks and pulls her dress over her head, standing in front of him, clad only in a pale pink chemise. With a daring look on her face, she lets that slip to the floor as well and he's up in an instant, hands roaming her bare skin, quite new and undiscovered but still so familiar.

She laughs, delighted – and with a barely detectable tremor underneath – and winds her arms around his neck. “I do hope you're planning to take me to bed any time soon.”

So he does.

When they lie in bed later, he brushes his fingertips against her spine and calculates his next move. He's been in this timeline for three months now and has tried to avoid falling into her but he just can't seem to help himself, can't seem but to repeat everything he's already been through.

But he doesn't know anything: they could have three minutes or three decades, it is all so seemingly random.

“Oh, darling, if I had known you were holding all of that back, I would've made my move ages ago.”

“Didn't you tell me that you were a respectable girl, Annaliese?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yes, and I've been truly debauched. Respectfully so.” She laughs and gets out of bed, not bothering to cover herself in any way and he admires her from his seat.

“Tell me, do you have a cigarette a decent girl could have?”

“Sure, in the kitchen.”

She winks at him and slowly sashays towards the kitchen, fully aware of him watching and not the least bit embarrassed.

He lies in bed and considers strategies and plans, wonders if maybe this is his time – like he always does – when he hears the door creak and sits up in alarm.

“Annaliese?”

There is a muffled familiar sound before something falls to the floor and he's out of bed in an instant and in his living room where a man in an impeccable suit stands, holding a gun in his hand, waiting for him.

“Compliments of Mr. Mastriano.”

He has the nerve to smile before he points the gun towards him and Harrison knows that he's killed Annaliese already and he closes his eyes against the reality-

* * *

 

_**2014** _

 

It's been almost five years since he's stayed in this timeline now and he is proud of himself. He's been arrogant, rude, and cold to the point of being biting but he's worked with Caitlin Snow for five years and has not given in to the urge to discover how much she has in common with her previous reincarnations, or whether she still has that beauty mark under her navel. He made a promise to himself the last time, whichever time that was, to fight it, to keep her alive.

So here they are, sitting at the bedside of Barry Allen, still waiting for him to wake up. He will play an instrumental role in his future, in all of their futures and he cannot wait.

He looks at Caitlin and notices her twirling her engagement ring around her finger; in this life, he went out of his way to push her into the direction of the engineering genius, to push her away from himself, to not notice the looks she gave him, the crush she harboured.

Because he saw and he couldn't know, couldn't let himself acknowledge it.

He can't look at her ring and think back to when she was Tess and that was a wedding ring.

He can't imagine her singing in a dark nightclub, her voice seductive and soothing – in this lifetime, she can't hold a tune to save her life.

He won't wonder about any other lifetime which he has yet to see because he has to believe that this might be his home, that in this one everything is yet to come.

When he builds Gideon – because he is a brilliant physicist in this lifetime – it is with the intent of going deeper into the roots of himself, of trying to break free of this endless time hopping. But Gideon finds a set future, a certain future, binds it to a certain person and so, Harrison Wells creates the Flash because that is somehow connected to him, that is something he needs in order to get back to wherever he's come from.

He is so caught up in his own plans and his own life that he becomes a bit careless, starts smiling at Caitlin at times, starts paying attention to her more than he used to, starts looking at her, really looking, and doesn't realize how deep his own gaze can be.

One day she tells him that Ronnie – her dead fiancé, now undead and a metahuman – is not her home anymore and he is scared because the look she gives him says too much and too little. He, for his part, doesn't say anything.

He just wants to go home and he doesn't know where that is but will do whatever it takes to get there. It doesn't matter that he's loved her in so many lifetimes because no good has come of that but heartache and despair which he can still feel, tenfold, spread out over all those times.

What good is a broken time travelling man who pays for that privilege and curse with his lover's life?

 

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: The timelines are not connected and only one version of her exists in each; ergo, in 2000 timeline, Caitlin doesn't exist and in the 2014 timeline, Tess has never existed.


End file.
